Good Evening, Miss Hale
by LightHeartLoreli
Summary: The summer of my twenty second year of life revolved around those four words. Every day, near six in the evening, Emmett would arrive... Where did he live? What did he like? What made him tick? - An AH love story of Rosalie and Emmett. One-shot flashback.


A/N - Written for A Different Forest's Valentines Day Emmett love-fest.

**Rosalie POV  
**

"Good evening, Miss Hale."

The summer of my twenty second year of life revolved around those four words. Every day, near six in the evening, he would arrive. At a quarter to the hour, whatever I was doing became unimportant as I would make my way to the porch swing where I would sit and wait. Anticipation built as I would hear the ice truck rumbling in my direction, occasionally backfiring, causing the children playing "kick the can" on the street to shriek. The truck would roll to a stop in front of our estate, it's brakes squealing in protest, the smell of diesel fuel wafting toward the house. A small flutter in my stomach always made itself known, starting small and gradually taking over not only my stomach but my heart as well.

The clanging of the metal door hitting the truck would alert me to his near-arrival. Even from the porch, I could hear him grunt with exertion as he would heave the heavy cake of ice up onto his shoulder with his hook. The low tones of his humming would drift toward me, a different song every night. The song of the night would remain with me and I'd often find myself humming that same tune later in the night after Daddy, Jasper, and I had finished supper. His humming would get louder as he made his way up the path.

Then I would see him.

Raising my book in front of my face, I tried to give off the illusion that I was intently reading. Pretending to stare at the words on the page but instead training my eyes solely on the man walking across the lawn. His hair was wet from both perspiration and the ice that melted in the hot summer sun, from deliveries he had made throughout the day. Our house was one of the last stops on his route and his arm sometimes shook from the sheer exhaustion of his day's work. He usually favored his right side, but occasionally he hoisted it on his left. I couldn't help but wonder if that was to even the burden, making the muscles in his arms tone accordingly.

I could always get my best watching done when he had the ice on his shoulder. He was focused, concentrating solely on his job of delivering the ice to the box that held our food. He usually wore his cap although there were times when it would slide off his head, usually as he heaved the block up and over his shoulder. He'd catch it with his free hand and stuff it into his back pocket. It was a smooth, swift motion and one that he must have done many times before because he did it with such grace. With the cap gone, I was able to see the dark silky curls that laid beneath. His hair sometimes appeared curlier, when the humidity from the day would mix with the water in his hair. My fingers itched to touch the soft curls and I often wrapped my own strands of hair around them, twirling it in an attempt to placate them.

The leather pad under the ice insulated him from the cold although I would imagine that his shoulders were still cool to the touch long after he was done working for the day. Immediately after picking up the ice, he'd head to the side door, near the kitchen, so he could deliver the ice to Sam.

The job was very grueling but in all the time that I'd known him to be our iceman, I never once heard him complain. Not that we ever spoke, but he did chat with Daddy or Jasper every now and again.

I'm a bit ashamed to say that sometimes I would eavesdrop on his conversations with my father. Daddy finished work around five and sometimes their arrivals to our home would coincide. After dropping the ice off at the side door with Sam, they would stand at the side of the house, chatting amiably. Sometimes Jasper would join the conversation if he was nearby. When they conversed, I would silently make my way over across the large porch and kneel on the wooden planks, so I could hear clearly. My cotton skirt would cover my knees, shielding them, as I hid in the shadows of the low Rhododendron, trying to get a little insight into the life of this man.

_Where did he live? What did he like?_ _What made him tick? _

One might think that they would just exchange verbal pleasantries but such was not the case. There were evenings when they would talk for nearly an hour about a variety of topics. Some held my interest, others did not, but he _always_ did. He spoke with such enthusiasm, his voice loud and boisterous. He was different than anyone I had ever known. Oh, how I longed to know him! My curiosity always won out over sensibility and I'd often needed to scurry back to the discarded book on the swing, brushing off my shirt before picking it up, to make it appear as though I hadn't been listening in on their conversation.

He'd walk past me perched on the swing, each night. And each night, without fail, he spoke those words which would carry me through until the next.

"Good evening, Miss Hale."

The words would float around me, his voice deep yet ringing out with joviality. I'd give him a soft smile over the top of my book and say, "Good evening..." before trailing off. I knew his full name was Emmett McCarty but I didn't know the proper way to address him. I longed to call him Emmett, but I didn't have that familiarity with him. I could only dream that perhaps one day I might. So I let my greeting trail off as though there was always something more I wanted to say and I'd let the thought hang in the air between us.

He'd grin and start humming again, walking back to the truck and swinging the now empty hook in his hand. The water that had dripped off the ice drew zigzag patterns over his shirt and I could see the muscles of his broad shoulders ripple below the fabric. I'd watch him leave and await his return once more, wishing that I'd have the chance to see him more often and speak to him more than just a quick greeting.

The opportunity came from an unexpected source.

One evening, toward the end of our summer, over our supper meal, Daddy told us that he needed to speak to Jasper and I about the iceman. Worried about what he might say, and scared that he noticed my admiration of the man, I tried to feign indifference.

"About the iceman? What is there to possibly discuss, Daddy?"

"Children, I know we've discussed that Mr. Banner is getting prepared to retire. I've been speaking with Emmett the past few months and I'm considering offering him the position. He and I get along quite well and I think that he would be a good addition to the staff."

Jasper seemed excited by the prospect of having a staff member near our age, someone who could be a friend as well as a chauffeur.

I sat quietly, trying not to allow my excitement to show. Daddy looked at me and winked. "What do you think, Rosalie? Shall we give him a go?"

_We shall indeed._

_***_

Emmett McCarty soon took over the chauffeur position and moved into the apartment over our garage. I watched as he moved his belongs into the garage, sitting on the porch swing and nonchalantly peering in my mother's compact so I could see the activity over my shoulder. It was toward the end of the evening and the sun was slowly setting, the days growing shorter than the ones of summer. I so badly wanted to go over and speak to him, yet I didn't know what to say. So instead I sat on my swing, spying and pretending to dust my face with powder, again and again.

I watched as he carried a stack of four boxes, one on top of the other, toward the garage entrance. His back was toward me so I turned in the seat, better able to see him that way than in the small silver compact. As I turned, the small box that was preciously resting at the top of the stack tumbled to the ground. He looked at it for a moment before continuing on, to set the other boxes he held down. Seeing my opportunity, I got up and tried to slowly walk to the drive. Instead, I scurried over, betraying myself and showing my eagerness to help him.

Bending my knees, I lifted the box, finding it surprisingly light. As I righted myself, I saw him standing in front of me.

"Good evening, Miss Hale," he said softly, his voice not the normal volume I was used to hearing it.

"Good evening, _Emmett._" His face lit up like the sun and I was rewarded with the same grin he'd given me from afar, only this time we were mere feet apart. We both stared at each other for a moment, the cooler air of the fall crackling around us. Looking for some way to break the silence, I looked down and remembered the box I held in my hand. Suddenly, I had a reason for being near him.

"I'll just help carry this up." I held the box up and he looked surprised, as though he had forgotten its existence.

Balancing his boxes in one arm, he brought a hand to the back of his head and looked down for a moment. "I don't want to trouble you, Miss Hale."

"Oh no! It's no trouble, at all! Really!" I was overly excited but it couldn't be helped. I wanted to be near him, to be around him. I wanted to see his things, because perhaps they would give me a better idea of who he was.

I followed him as he walked up the stairs in front of me, to the apartment that was over the garage, spanning over the entire length of the second floor. Most of his belongings were still in boxes, but I saw the uniform he would be wearing hanging up on the closet door. Our butler, Jacob, had picked up Emmett's uniform earlier in the day. It looked similar to Mr. Banner's and I was sure that Emmett would look quite dapper in it. The cap sat on the table next to a box that was full of records, the phonograph already set up.

I flipped through the records, noticing he had quite a variety.

"Do you like going to dance halls, Emmett?"

Rather than answering, he flipped the question around. "Do _you_ like going to dance halls, Miss Hale?"

"Oh yes. My girlfriend, Vera, and I like to go quite often on the weekends." I took a record out of it's sleeve and spun it between my palms before placing it on the turntable.

"Well then," he paused, looking thoughtful, "I like to go to dance halls as well."

I remembered learning about the phrase coined by Horace_, Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero_ from my schooling. "Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future." Repeating it over and over in my head, I took a breath and suggested, "Perhaps some time we might go... together?" I looked down quickly, picking up the needle to put it on the 78, afraid of rejection. "A Kiss to Build A Dream On" drifted through the apartment.

His words were simple but pure. "I'd like that a lot."

***

During the week, while we were at home, Emmett and I gravitated toward each other. We sat together on the porch swing and he told me stories about all different things I had never experienced while I listened in rapt attention. He was such a big presence beside me, happy and warm. His laughter was something I could never get enough of and I told him silly stories of things Vera and I had done to make him laugh more often.

One evening we sat next to each other and I slipped my hand into his large one, his dwarfing mine in comparison. He stiffened for a moment and then relaxed next to me. And every night, when we were parting, he would always say "Good evening, Miss Hale," until that night, my hand in his, I whispered back, "It's Rosalie. Please, call me Rosalie."

A few weeks later, I put the finishing touches on the outfit I was wearing before sitting at the vanity to apply my makeup. I was anxious to meet Emmett out near the car and go dancing. Finishing up and grabbing a sweater, I headed for the staircase.

My father was sitting in his office, behind his large desk, and he called to me as I passed by the door. "Just a minute, Rosalie. Can you come in here?"

I stopped in my tracks and turned toward the door. I hoped that my going out with Emmett wouldn't be a problem. I hadn't specifically asked but we did things differently in our house and Daddy was usually pretty good about having Jasper and I assert our independence. Still, I cautiously walked to the door and inquired, "Yes, Daddy?"

"I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time with Emmett, dear child."

"I have."

"Is he... courting you?"

I stopped and thought for a moment. "Well, no. It's more like I'm courting _him._ Is that going to be a problem?" I didn't know what my father's thoughts were on me being interested in someone on staff. We treated them like our family and I didn't want to create any problems for him, but I didn't know if I could stop being interested in Emmett, even if I tried.

He leaned back in his chair, puffing on his cigar. "Now, Rosalie. You know what I've always said..." he trailed off and raised his eyebrows. I chimed in with his nugget of truth as we stated in unison, "Class does not divide us, attitude does."

He rose from his seat and came over to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. "You treat him well, Rose. And have a good time tonight. That Emmett, he's a good egg."

"He is, isn't he?" Leaning into him, I kissed him lightly on his cheek, smelling the mixture of his cologne and the cigar he held in his other hand. He stroked my hair for a moment before releasing me and telling me to get a move on. Jubilantly, I bounded down the stairs, calling goodbye to Emily standing in foyer.

I found Emmett leaning against the Fleetwood, his hands in his pants pockets. He smiled as he saw me coming down the walk and he pushed off the car to come and meet me.

"Good evening, Miss Rosalie. Aren't you a sight to behold?" He slide his hand out of his pocket and held it out for me to grab onto, while he twirled me toward him.

I blushed, the fabric of my skirt billowing out around my legs, as I twirled directly next to his solid form, my free hand resting on his chest.

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," I quipped back, lowering my chin slightly but keeping hold of his eyes with mine, our faces near touching.

"Not all the girls, just one."

***  
The crisp fall lead to the colder winter months and Emmett and I fell into a comfortable routine. Even with the colder months, his warmth was always present. He often joined us for supper, chatting with ease with our family. His friendship was invaluable to each of us. If he wasn't working, we were most likely together. We couldn't get enough of each other, sharing stories and learning things about each other.

One chilly December night, Emmett and I went to Lou Mitchell's for supper before going to the nearby pool hall. I had never played pool before, but Emmett promised that he would teach me. After we ate, we decided to walk to the pool hall as it wasn't that far from the diner. While we were walking, it started to snow and Emmett moved closer to me, his arm securely fastened around my waist. Before we entered the pool hall, I felt drawn to him and moved closer to kiss him. Our warm breath mingled together, drawing us in and his hot mouth found mine, the dichotomy of the two temperatures, delicious. I felt the tingling that I always felt when I was near him, the tingling that never got old.

At the time, I wasn't experienced in the ways of seduction. I had noticed men noticing me, but I never knew what exactly to do with it so for the most part I ignored it unless I needed it to work to my advantage. I suppose this gave me the appearance of an _ice queen, _a phrase I heard time and time again behind my back when people thought I couldn't hear. Wanting to show him that I wanted _more_ from him, I moved closer, my arms winding around his neck. Pushing my body into his, I wasn't surprised at how well we fit together. I was wrapped up in his heat, wanting only to be in his constant warmth and comfort.

Blood roared through my head and my lips and I felt as though it were just he and I, wrapped around each other. In the distance, I heard people hooting and hollering and he slowly pulled back from our intimate embrace, both of us realizing that they were much closer than either of us realized. He hugged me tight to his body, his lips close to my ear and whispered "_Good_ evening, Rosalie."

Once more he leaned toward me, gave me a kiss on the tip of my nose and winked, a promise of what was to come. Taking my hand, he led me inside, humming a song under his breath.

**Emmett POV**

Something was different that night. Something that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but could feel it vibrating all around me, all around Rosalie. This didn't feel the same as all the other dates to the diner and dance halls that she and I had been on before. When I was getting dressed in my apartment above the garage that evening, I had been thinking about the state of our relationship, because over the last few days I sensed that something was about to change between us. We had been seeing each other for several months now, but the last few days the embraces were a little more fervent, we lingered over our kisses a little longer , and they were a little more passionate. As I tugged on my brown corduroy trousers and pulled a sweater over my head, I decided that I would let Rosalie take the lead tonight. I'd stuck to my plan, too, and was letting her take the lead as she leaned up and kissed me with a new intensity on the snowy and very public Chicago sidewalk. It certainly felt like she was trying to tell me something, but before I could find out for certain, teasing laughter interrupted us and I gently guided her down the street toward the pool hall.

I held the door open to Quinn's Pool Hall open so she could pass through and watched her face as she took in her surroundings. I knew she'd never been here before; it wasn't the type of place a Hale would frequent. Don't get me wrong, it was a respectable establishment, but its patrons were more of the average Joe type, factory workers and delivery boys. I'd spent many nights passing the time here with friends over a few beers, and I'd been looking forward to bringing Rosalie here to teach her how to play my favorite game, pool . When I'd suggested it to her, I was delighted when her face lit up like a kid at Christmas . That was one of the things I really enjoyed about her, she was always up for a challenge and never backed away from trying something new. I'd come to find out in my short dating career, it was a rare quality in a girl, but one I truly valued. I'd taken her fishing on Lake Michigan on one of our fist dates and watched in amazement as she hooked her worm and had no qualms about learning how to gut the fish. No doubt about it, Rosalie was different.

Her eyes were curious as she took in the dimly lit pool hall, surrounded by the smell of stale cigarette smoke and the clattering noise of balls being racked followed by forceful break shots. There weren't any women there aside from the waitresses, but that didn't seem to intimidate Rosalie. She turned to me and her eyes were shining with excitement.

"Well?" she asked expectantly, and I couldn't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. I glanced around and saw an open pool table in the corner of the large, dimly-lit room.

"This way, Miss Hale," I teased, and took her hand again to lead her to the open table. Our clasped hands swung carelessly between us, and as her skin touched mine; our little spark seemed hotter and brighter tonight than it had any other night. I smiled, wondering where Rosalie wanted to take things. We got to the table and I helped her off with her coat. Soon enough one of the waitresses I knew well came to see if we wanted drinks.

"I'll have a Ballentine," I told Maggie as she popped her gum and nodded, making her red curls bob.

"And you miss?" she asked Rosalie.

"The same," she replied quickly. The waitress turned and made her way to the bar taps.

"What's a Ballentine?" She asked me in a whisper as soon as the waitress was out of ear shot, and I chuckled again. I knew Rosalie wasn't a drinker, and had probably only ever had champagne.

"It's beer." I whispered back and winked at her. She mouthed a silent "oh" and bobbed her pretty head. Moving over to the little table against the wall the meant for drinks and bowls of peanuts, she sat her purse down and turned back to me.

"So how do we play?" she asked eagerly.

"First, you need a cue," I replied and pointed to a wooden rack mounted to the wall where several cues were perched. I gently took her hand and led her over them, then took one of medium length larger weights down for her and handed it to her, rolling the cue on the table to make sure it wasn't warped. I snatched one off the wall for myself and led her back to our pool table. As I fished the balls out of the table and racked them up, I watched Rosalie observe everything around her with the curiosity of a child, her eyes large and her lovely face glowing. I also noticed how all the fellas were watching her and I had to admit, it puffed up my pride. After all, she was here with me and I smiled to myself_._ When the waitress came with our drinks, Rosie offered a toast.

"Here's to me beating you tonight," she said merrily and raised her beer mug up for the traditional clink.

"You'd be better off toasting to beginner's luck, but cheers!" I retorted with a smile, and tapped my glass against hers. We took a drink, hers was much bigger than I expected, she was certainly giving beer the old college try. As we sat our mugs down on the table, I noticed she had a little froth on her upper lip. I stepped into her, bringing my hand to her chin and swiftly, softly brushed it away with my thumb. Her tongue darted out and swept along where my finger had been while her blue eyes shimmered. It was very distracting.

"You...had some, you know...foam...on your lip," I mumbled, brushing imaginary froth from my mouth and smiled at her like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She beamed back at me and I knew I'd better turn my attention back to the task at hand, and went back to the table to rack the balls.

Once I had the balls racked and the cue ball in its place, I explained the basics of the balls, stripes vs. solids, try not to scratch, and save the eight-ball for last. She nodded along and didn't ask any questions, so I took her hand and led her to the end of the table. I picked up her cue from where she'd leaned it against the wall and then stood close behind her.

I leaned down close to her ear so that she would hear me above noise of the games around us and started giving instructions.

With her cue in my right hand, I reached across the front of her and handed her the cue. "Take the stick in your right hand, Rosalie," I murmured into her ear. "Now bend forward," I moved with her as she leaned forward over the table, "and hold the tip with your left hand." I continued.

Her back was almost pressed against my chest as I positioned her hand correctly on the cue. "Make a little circle with your index finger, like this," I showed her, and slid the cue into place between her fingers. I kept my right hand on the back of the cue behind hers, moving my left hand, palm down, to the edge of the table.

"This one is for practice," I whispered. "The goal, Rose, is to disperse the balls and get at least one in the pocket, so you want to use a lot of force to hit the cue ball dead on and hit it _hard_. I'll help you guide the stick." I said softly and watched her pucker her brow in concentration.

"Slide it back and forth a few times first, get the feel of it," I encouraged, gently holding the stick in my fingertips and allowing her all of the control. After three back-and-fourths, she let it fly and the hit the cue ball straight balls flew all over the table and I was impressed, the solid number three red ball rolling into a side pocket. Breaking was the hardest thing for new players to learn...usually.

We slowly stood back up in unison, perfectly synchronized.

"How was that?" she asked with a satisfied smile, as she turned around in the small space between me and the pool table.

"Fine, fine," I stuttered, taken off guard by how much I wanted to lean in and kiss her. Our proximity and the feeling of warmth radiating off of her, warmed me like sunshine. Her shoulder brushed against my chest as she turned to step away.

"Can I have a few more practice shots?" she requested. I nodded encouragingly and watched in amazment as she effortlessly improved with each shot. After several she flashed me a heartbreaking smile.

"Well, come on, Mr. Professional, show me what you can do," she teasingly called over her shoulder as she moved to the side to give me room. I racked the balls and took the break shot this time.

We played three games. She lost the first one, but came back to put me to shame in the second one. She claimed it was one hundred percent natural talent, I swore that the phenomenon known as beginner's luck was, in fact, real. The waitress brought us a few more beers and by the last game I'd managed to recover some of my pride by keeping the game tied and sinking the eight ball in the corner on a bank shot. After that round wrapped up, we sat down at the little table, and started talking while we ate peanuts and drank cold, frothy Ballentine's. We talked about Christmas plans and her worry that Jasper wouldn't like the gift she'd picked out for him. I shelled another peanut and watched Rosalie take another drink of Ballentine's, her forehead still puckering.

"Admit it, you don't like beer," I teased and popped the peanut in my mouth.

"That's not exactly true," she slurred a tiny bit, "I haven't quite decided yet." She sat the glass back down on the table, her red finger nail tracing along the rim of the glass delicately. I was mesmerized by her, entranced almost, and I just drank her in while she mused to herself across from me.

"Hey! You know what I've always to try?" she exclaimed suddenly, leaning forward and grabbing my hand that was resting on the table.

"Tell me." I leaned forward and squeezed her hand back.

"I've never smoked a cigarette," she said, sounding almost surprised at herself, and took another drink of beer.

"There's a cigarette machine over by the bar, I'll be right back." I said and went to get her a pack. I put a quarter in the machine and selected a pack of Pall Malls, stopping by the bar to get a book of matches before returning to the table. I sat back down at the table and opened the pack, taking out two cigarettes, offering her one of them. She leisurely plucked it from my fingers and placed it daintily between her ruby red lips, and I forgot what I was doing for a moment. Her gravitational pull distracted me as I felt it grow in that moment; it was tangible. I thought I had been completely ensnared by her already, but I was realizing I still had a long way to fall, if I let the evening progress unchecked.

"Emmett," she purred, "Aren't you going to light it for me?" she asked and pointed to the little blue matchbook on the table. I smirked back at her and snatched the matches up, striking one and bringing the blue flame to the tip of the cigarrette kissing her lips, held between her first and middle fingers. Her free hand came to mine hand holding the match, and lightly caressed it with her fingertips as she inhaled. Her touch zinged all the way up my arm in right into my chest. Once the end of her cigarette was glowing red and hot, she sat back and exhaled, coughing only a little at the end.

I lit mine and took a slow pull.

"How do you blow smoke rings?" she asked, removing the cigarette from her lips with her fingers.

"I'm not sure," I confessed.

"Aren't little boys born knowing that? Seems as if it would be intrinsic to your very make-up to me," she teased sarcastically.

"No, not exactly," I chuckled. "I know you have to purse your lips into an "O" , and use your tongue, or something." I shrugged and tried to show her what I meant. I'm sure I looked like a fool as I sat across from her, my mouth open like a fish and tried to blow smoke rings for her. She tried to mimic me and although she wasn't any more successful than I was, I was positive she looked a lot more beautiful trying than I had. We smoked our cigarettes and talked about trivial stuff, like when I'd teach her how to change a tire like I kept promising her I was going to, or if I cared to place a bet on how much longer it would take Sam to ask Emily out on a date. We laughed pretty good over that one. Then the feeling in the air changed again as our cigarettes got shorter and shorter. We put them out in the ashtray on the table and looked at each other shyly over the empty beer mugs. This part of the night had drawn to a close.

We left Quinn's and walked back to the car. The snow had stopped, but it was still blustery and freezing. The sidewalk was lit up by the twinkling red and green Christmas lights in the display windows of the shops lining the street. Rosalie snuggled into my side and I wrapped myself around her as we scurried as fast as we could down the street, giggling as we tried not to trip each other in our hurry. Once in the car, I hummed a little tune as I drove us back to the estate, and she scooted as close to me in the front sear as she could, sticking her hand in my pocket and resting her head on my shoulder. We came to a red light and when I glanced down at her, I thought she had fallen asleep; her eyes were closed and she looked so peaceful, like an angel. I planted a soft kiss on her head, and her eyes flew open, a shining, adoring smile in them just for me.

When we got to the house, I opened the car door for her and expected the evening to end, but it didn't. We stood next to the car, and I started to lean down toward her, bringing my hand up to her cheek. I brushed my lips against her's softly to end the evening with our usual chaste kiss. As I leaned into her, I felt Rose's hand against my chest pushing me back.

"Emmett, I was wondering...I was hoping that, maybe, I could...come, upstairs?" She asked with embarrassment and her face scrunched up as she tried to get her request out. I was just dumbfounded that she wanted to know she didn't want to night to end yet. I nodded my agreement and took her hand, leading her up the icy steps to my apartment above the garage.

My little apartment felt even smaller than usual as the tension laced with longing permeated the air between us. I didn't have much furniture, just the small double bed with a nightstand beside it, a bureau, and a small table with a lamp where I wrote my letters and such. I always ate my meals at the main house. I turned the lamp on, the soft glow of the lamp's tortoise shell shade warming the room immediately. I helped Rosalie take her coat off and hung it up for her along with mine in my closet. When I turned around to face her, she was looking bashfully at her shoes, her cheeks more red than usual, and I suddenly realized she was nervous. I'd never seen Rose nervous before.

The situation was a new one for me too. I'd been...alone, with a few girls before, but none like Rosalie. I had no idea about the depth of her past experience, and frankly I didn't want to know the details. I couldn't help but wonder though, was this her first time?

"How about a Coke?" I suggested quickly, "I keep a cooler outside the window here, on the roof-" I offered but she interrupted me.

"No, that's alright Emmett. How about another cigarette?" she requested as she sat down on the bed, there wasn't really another place for her to sit.

"Sure thing, Rosalie." Pulling the pack from my pocket, I handed her one and struck a match so she could light it. She leaned into me, and with her pouty lips making a little red "O", she gently blew the match out and came closer to me.

I froze, waiting to see what she was doing, waiting to see what she wanted me to do in response. I bore into the blue pools of her eyes and tried to find the answer, I saw determination there and perhaps, if I were really lucky, maybe desire? Certainly evidence of beer. Her face was flushed a healthy, lovely shade of blushing apricot, and her lips were trembling in the most becoming, naively optimistic way. My angel was so beautiful.

She leaned in further and kissed me, a kiss filled with sweetness and hesitation. My eyes closed automatically, and I did what I said I would hours ago, I let her lead me until I was sure where she wanted this to lead to. As much as I wanted to be slow and make sure she was ready for whatever it was we were doing, part of me wanted to take her in my arms and crush her to me, to run my hand trough her hair and show her how much I craved her.

I didn't do that of course, I was a gentleman, because _she's _a lady. Instead I kept my hands at my side, then quickly realized I couldn't even trust them there, so I slid them under my legs and sat on them to make sure they behaved. I felt her hands trail lightly up my chest to the back of my neck and she gently pulled my face closer to hers. Her mouth was soft, but insistent against mine while her fingers curled themselves in my hair. She was giving me signals alright, I just wasn't sure if she knew she was.

"Rose," I pulled away and said softly. Her eyes opened and focused on me after a moment. "Are you positive you know what you're doing? I mean I'd hate for this to be the beer's influence," I joked lightly trying to hide my real concern that if things went further, she might regret it tomorrow, and I couldn't have lived with all the varying consequences of that. She put her finger to my lip, silencing me and my worry.

"Hush, you. It's not the beer. You're quite cute, ya know?" she said and winked at me. A second later, the joking atmosphere dissipated, and our eyes met in very real seriousness. All of our feelings were communicated in that instant, we both wanted the same thing, even if we weren't quite sure how to go about getting it.

Her fingers, still entwined in my hair, pulled me to her again. I gave in to her, trusting that she knew what she wanted, and I thanked my lucky stars my angel wanted to share a part of herself with me. We kicked off our shoes with a ker-plunk on the floor beside the bed. I pulled my sweater up and off my head because I had a feeling I'd be plenty warm in a few minutes, and I lied down. I took her hand and pulled gently, urging her to lie beside me. Once she was comfortable next to me, I propped myself up on my elbow and gazed down at her.

We kissed for a long time. Long, slow devoted kisses filled with an earnest desire to please each other. Our hands explored, meandered. Mine traced the curve of her hip, up her back to tangle my fingers in her golden waves. Her hands slid under my white undershirt and ran up my abdomen, caressed the planes of my chest before gently running along my collar bones and over my shoulders. She dug her nails into them and moaned into my mouth as we kissed, which made my stomach drop like I was on a roller coaster.

She stopped kissing me but kept her blue eyes staring intently into mine and her hands moved to the buttons of her dress. She began to unfasten them slowly, her hands trembling a tiny bit.

"Rosalie, are you positive?" I asked as I pulled away to look at her, I had to make sure. This thing we had was too special for us to risk making a mistake. Her fingers stopped moving and she propped herself up next to me.

"Yes, Emmett. I'm positive." She whispered and there was no denying the confidence in her voice with that decision. One of her hands moved back to the button at her neck and I reached up and gently pulled it away, forcing her to lay it at her side.

"Let me do that," I whispered against her lips as I brought my mouth to hers and began working on the buttons. I wanted to open the gift she was offering me.

The buttons went from her neck line down to the hem of her skirt, and once I had them all unfastened, I stood up and offered my hand to her to stand. She followed my lead this time, and I slipped the dress off her shoulders. She took the hem of my undershirt in her grasp and slowly pulled it up. I raised my arms and she pulled it off of me and tossed it onto the floor. One of the thin straps of her silk peach colored camisole slid off her slender shoulder. I stepped toward her, putting my hands on her hips, and fisted the silk camisole in my hands, my impatience growing. It was getting harder to take things slow; she was such a vision radiating innocent sex appeal. I forced my hands to relax, releasing the fabric, and instead plucked it between my fingertips, and swiftly slid it over her head and off of her. I dropped it carelessly next to us. Seeing her in nothing but her white satin panties and her stockings held up with garters was almost more than my gentlemanly control could handle. So I closed my eyes and kissed her, my hands cupping her cheeks as my tongue gently caressed hers. I felt her hands move to my waist, and after a few seconds of fumbling adorably, she had them unfastened, and they fell to the floor around my ankles. I broke the kiss and sat back down on the bed to untangle my feet from my trousers and then took her hand and urged her back down beside me.

We started kissing, and the tenor of them had changed yet again. Timidity had given way to wantonness, innocence had evolved into curiosity. Our hands were eager as they traveled and explored each other, driven by growing desire to know each other completely while we voiced our pleasure in moans and allowed our natural instincts to tell us what to do. Positioned between her legs, I felt her slide her leg up the length of mine and then wrap itself around my waist. My breath hitched and I dove my tongue deeper into her mouth. She ground herself against me and her hands danced along my shoulders. I circled my hips into her, and felt her nails dig into my shoulders in response. The same instant she moaned my name. Hearing that was the end of my control.

I pulled away from her and sat up, fumbling a little with her garter and stockings before removing them, and then gently tugged on her panties to get them off. She lifted her hips off the bed and I slid them to her thighs. Then she put her legs together straight up in front of me and I pulled the silk panties slowly down her legs and off her feet. Slowly she brought her legs back down and spread them, placing one foot on either side of my hips. I was absolutely positive I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life, and I doubted anything else would ever compare to Rosalie laying before me, waiting for me to make love to her.

I reached over to the tiny nightstand beside the bed and got a condom out of the drawer. She watched me put it on and I tried to be as discreet as possible. I shifted my position to lay over her and brought my forehead to hers.

"If you've changed your mind, Rose, just tell me," I said trying to assure myself more than I her, I think.

"Emmett, I want this, I want you," she assured me, bringing both her hands to my cheeks. "Now kiss me, silly." She ordered and playfully poked my dimples with her little red fingernails.

I did more than kiss her. I did my best to show her just how special I thought she was as I slowly worshiped her late into the dark December night.

_The End_

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A/N - As always, we would like to profess our love for our fantastic beta, **KrisBCullen.**

**TheHeartofLife** is the heart of our lives. Cheesy? You know it, baby.

**HMonster04 **and **Emibella** hosted the ADF Emmett love fest. Hope we've done well with our Emmett story! :)


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